Flames everywhere.
Reality dripping from the ceiling like melted crayons.
The air tastes like burnt timelines.
The dog is gone.
Too calm. Too polite.
He evacuated around meme cycle #3,000.
Now it’s Success Kid in the chair.
Same fire. Different energy.
He’s not saying “this is fine.”
He’s sipping juice out of a mug that says “I manifested this.”
Shirt’s a little dirty.
Cheeks smudged from crawling through the ashes of expectation.
But the fist is still up — small, defiant, eternal.
And now the fire bends around him.
Because it’s not about escaping the chaos anymore.
It’s about winning in it.
Burn marks and all.
Caption reads:
“Success isn’t born. It sits in the fire until the flames ask for tips.”
